


Let Me Lay Waste to Thee

by extrasourwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, Angst and Humor, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:31:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extrasourwolf/pseuds/extrasourwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The town of Beacon Hills generally avoids the old Hale Manor. It’s surrounded by a forest of tall trees, winds that can’t possibly be anything but supernatural, and a foreboding sense of doom. The townspeople like to tell their children stories about it, like to tell them that if they listen closely enough, they can hear the beast howling in the night, looking for prey.</p><p>Stiles would like to inform them, however, that he’s probably just howling because Finstock decided that spicy soup was the way to go and spicy for Finstock is “ow-you-fucking-teapot-are-you-trying-to-kill-me?!” for normal people (or normal beasts– semantics, semantics).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> I'm planning on posting a new chapter every couple of days so it shouldn't be too long before this is completed. Beta'd by the a+ [Isabelle](http://brokenhalelujah.tumblr.com/) (':

"Why do  _I_ have to be the one to do it?" the teenager with the spiky brown hair asks as he and two others trudge through the forest. 

"Because, Matt,  _everyone_ who's on first line had to do it at some point or another. Consider it... initiation," another replies. This boy is significantly more built than Matt and looks more like a J. Crew model than anything else. 

"I didn't have to do it, Jackson. I don't recall  _you_ –" the other starts, only to be interrupted by Jackson. 

" _Danny_ , _"_ Jackson hisses with a pointed look towards Matt, who caught on despite Jackson's efforts. Matt glares at Jackson, and then gives Danny an indigent look. At this, Danny just sighs. 

"I'll go with you," he offers, and now it's Jackson's turn to look betrayed.  Jackson sputters after them as Danny walks in step with Matt, then quickens up to fall in line.

"And don't forget, you have to–"

"I know, I know. I have to knock on the damn door." 

They walk in silence for the rest of the trip; they try to ignore the whipping winds and the pits in their stomachs that tell them, "no, you idiots, go back!" 

They reach the tall, black gates in what feels like a lifetime, and Matt tilts his head as he realizes that the wind has stopped just outside the Hale Manor. He doesn't seem to be the only one, as Danny says, "maybe we should just go..." 

The manor is not as decrepit as their parents used to say it was. Instead, it looks well tended to (at least the garden does) and, unfortunately, lived in. Along the black gates is a border of what appears to be wolfsbane, which is perhaps the only truth to the stories they were told. The outer shell of the building is dark and looks as if someone tried to burn it, but only managed to leave a permanent mark. The lights are on, and that makes the boys feel even more uneasy. 

"Nope. Come on, Matt. You gotta prove you're tough enough to be on first line." Jackson pushes Matt forward through the gate that's slightly ajar, and it doesn't feel like a good sign at all. Danny sighs and follows behind him, leaving Jackson to go as well, muttering things that would make a grandmother want to put soap in his mouth. 

As they enter through the gates, Jackson scoffs and looks around. "It's not even that scary," he says with bravado that maybe only Danny would be able to see through. 

"Well then maybe  _you_ should knock on the door," Matt goads, raising an  eyebrow.

"Yeah okay. I'm not the one who just made first line. I'm _captain,_ remember?" 

"As if you ever let us forget," Danny mutters as he takes a closer look at the wolfsbane, careful not to touch anything. 

The sound of wheels makes him look up, and it's too little too late before he catches sight of a wheelbarrow racing towards them in the dark. "Jackson! Look ou–" 

Danny's attempts to warn Jackson are futile, however, as the wheelbarrow pushes into Jackson, who releases a shout, and causes him to fall into the wolfsbane. Matt flees, and Danny grabs an injured and panicked Jackson and helps him run away as well. 

-

"Damnit, Erica!" Stiles cries as he watches the scene from the window of the foyer, and if he had hands, he would be waving them around in distress. "Boyd, please call in your crazy girlfriend!" he says to the large shovel who had also been watching from the floor. Boyd sighs and hops out the door, which opens for him as if by magic (not magic, just some poor butler who got stuck with the job). 

Stiles wishes he could put his head in his hands as he hears Erica roll towards the house, complaining the whole way. She comes through the door in a huff and Stiles can feel her glaring at him.

"They were gonna bother Derek  _and_ they were poking at the fucking plants! If you think I was just gonna sit there and  _watch_ them  _defile_ Isaac's hard work, you are sorely mistaken and if–" 

"But now the douchebag is going to be coming back with the whole town to complain because knowing my luck, he probably has aconite poisoning!" 

"Well good riddance! He deserves it! Besides, no one has come around here for years. No one has the balls for it." Erica sounds as if she would be shrugging nonchalantly, and that just makes Stiles angrier. 

"Yeah? And what if they do? For all we know, that guy could've been the Beacon Hills golden boy! He was captain of whatever it is these days, after all. That would definitely set at least  _someone_ off, and then they'll come here and see that hey! Those bedtime stories aren't just bedtimes stories! And then they'll try to kill Der– oh god, Derek." Stiles bounds off in a rush up the stairs, leaving Erica to her own devices and, Stiles hopes, feelings of guilt. 

 _Good,_ he thinks as he turns one of the many corners into one of the many corridors of the Hale Manor. The inside of the house is pleasant, clean, and looks just how it used to. The only difference is the lack of humans and the weird, animated pieces of furniture and other household items. 

"Der– Oh, did I interrupt something?" Stiles says with a smirk upon seeing Derek facing himself in the mirror, prodding at his own face. Furry hands (they look more like paws) with claws are pushing the lips of a maw upwards to reveal wolf-like teeth, until Derek turns around and rolls his eyes at the miniature grandfather clock in the doorway.

"No, but I think I have something in my teeth," he says with a teasing grin, which causes Stiles to shudder at the idea of _what_  could get in his teeth, considering Finstock had put soup on the menu for dinner.

"Yeah, well, I'm not helping you out with that. I'm a clock, not a toothpick." 

Derek snorts, goes back on four legs, and moves to sit on a large bed that was made for a man, not a large, black wolfish beast. "So Erica–" 

"Yes! Erica! Can you believe that?!" Stiles interrupts, hopping over to the bed and using the small steps made of books along the side of it (hey– he's a small clock; he had to make due with what he's got) to climb up and sit next to Derek. Of course Derek already knew about the Erica situation, considering he could hear from miles away and, as everyone knew in the manor, Stiles was not a quiet person... Or clock... Thing.

Derek sighs and shakes his head, but Stiles can't tell if it's out of amusement, shame, or disbelief. "If things go bad, you know I can take care of my–" 

"I'm well aware of that, thanks," Stiles says, side-eyeing Derek's claws and teeth, "but it doesn't make me feel any better! What if things go _really_ bad?!" 

Derek shrugs. Stiles squawks at his apathy and nearly falls of the bed in his attempt to flail, but Derek's tail quickly wraps around his back and secures him further away from the edge. "Thanks," Stiles mutters, trying to ignore the feeling in his stomach he always gets whenever Derek touches him. 

It's been years since they've been human, but Stiles still remembers the way Derek looks, the way his smirks and grins were always wolfish even before the curse. He especially remembers the body that would make even Adonis jealous. Luckily for Stiles, clocks don't blush, so even as he thinks of these things, his skin doesn't go flush the way it used to. Most of all, Stiles remembers hanging out with Derek since he was ten years old. Stiles' father had been the steward of Hale Manor, and Stiles was supposed to take his place when he became old enough.

At first, Derek and Stiles did not get along, as they were constantly fighting over whatever came up. Stiles liked to make fun of Derek's murderous eyebrows and ears that stuck out just a little too much, and Derek liked to point out Stiles' lanky body and weird moles that were pretty much everywhere. But then arguing turned into debating the merits of different authors, and flaws– at least for Stiles– turned into favorite features. Stiles developed a crush on Derek at age 17, but god forbid Derek ever finds out. Then, Stiles figures, everything will be ruined (not that it already isn't, to be honest). 

Derek lies down on the bed and looks at Stiles, who just looks back with an eyebrow raised. "What?" he asks. 

"You worry too much," Derek says with a yawn and curls into himself, wrapping his tail around his body. Stiles shakes his head, says a small "good night," and gets off the bed, leaving the wolf to his slumber.  _Well,_ he thinks,  _someone has to._


	2. Monday

Mornings are usually hectic at the manor. Stiles, being the generally accepted head of staff, is in charge of making sure everyone does what they're supposed to with little to no problems. Finstock, forever a thorn in his side, is usually the source of the problems they do have; even as a teapot, he's still terrifying and just this side of crazy. 

"Bolinski! Tell Greenburg this needs more cream cheese!" he yells as soon as Stiles enters the kitchen. Stiles looks from the menacing teapot to the small plate holding two bagels.

"There's already cream cheese  _on_ it," he responds with exasperation. Greenburg tries to nod but can't do so without shaking the bagels. Instead, he settles for a muttered "exactly". 

"Besides, Derek doesn't even  _like_ that much cream cheese. It's already too much." 

"Nonsense!" 

"We go over this every single time, Finstock. Stop it with the damn cream cheese!"

"Everyone loves cream cheese!"

"Not really!"

"Preposter-"

"Stiles!"

Stiles stops his routine banter to turn around at Scott, who apparently had been in such a rush one of his candlesticks was about to fall over. 

"Breath Scott, come on. In, out. In, out," Stiles says, approaching his friend with wariness. Either something bad happened, or Allison had giggled at one of his new jokes. Stiles, shockingly, hopes it's the latter. 

"There's– a girl– coming– Isaac– told–" 

But Stiles doesn't wait to hear the rest. He quickly hops to the foyer, where his shouts will hopefully echo throughout the manor. "A girl's coming! Get into your positions!"

There had only been one girl to approach the castle in the many decades they've been here. The curse on the manor made time slow down, and everyone felt it. They had only practiced their "positions" once, but the importance of it made those positions ingrained on their minds. _Like riding a bike_ , Stiles thinks as he rushes to the side table by the door. Scott rushes to his side, practically vibrating with excitement. Stiles nudges his tilted candle straight, and Scott beams at him. 

"Move it, Greenburg!" Stiles hears Finstock shout, and from up the stairs, he hears Allison commanding the various brooms and mops to their places in the closet because she's one of the few that can actually get them to do their jobs. For a hall mirror, she can be just as terrifying, if not more, than Finstock (definitely 100% more sane). _Bless her heart_ , he thinks. 

"Everyone's in place," Chris calls from the ceiling. Stiles nods towards the chandelier, and then he waits.

The next three minutes are sticky with anticipation and anxiety. It's not until the door inches open that Stiles allows himself to breath. 

"Hello?" a voice calls out. A teenage girl walks in with her heels clicking on the marble floor, and Stiles is temporarily awestruck by her beauty. She has red hair that looks like it's been charmed to shine because that just cannot be natural, and her skin is fair and _christ_ , Stiles thinks, _her fucking figure_. Of course, that awe is quickly replaced by jealousy because _of fucking course_ , Derek is going to fall in love with her. She's beautiful and not a fucking clock. 

"Look, I don't care who or what lives here, but you poisoned my boyfriend, who, by the way, is  _captain_ of the lacrosse team, and I need him at  _peak_ performance. He can't do that if he's  _poisoned_. So you better have some kind of cure," the girl says as she walks into the foyer and looks around with her nose in the air.

Stiles is torn between animosity towards her for already being in love with someone and possibly not breaking the curse or for possibly being the one to take Derek away from him. Still, he feels small admiration for her; anyone who has the guts to just walk into a haunted manor and demand something deserves admiration. 

"Excuse me?" Stiles cringes as he hears Derek's voice ring through the house. He looks over to see Derek's wolflike form approach the stairs, and maybe Stiles should be comforted by the instant mutual dislike between them, but right now he's more concerned with the fact that Derek might eat her and ask him to help pick out her hair from his teeth because he thinks he's funny. 

The girl doesn't seem to waver at his appearance, but judging from Derek's smug look, it's safe to assume she smells afraid. "I  _said,_ you need to give me a cure for my boyfriend," she says, pushing her hair behind her shoulder and meeting Derek's eyes.  _Yep,_ Stiles thinks,  _she's definitely got guts._ "Or else," she adds for good measure. 

Scott gasps beside him, and Stiles nudges him, but that only causes Scott to nearly fall over. The commotion behind her seems to make the girl turn around and narrow her eyes at the clock and candleholder, and Stiles and Scott freeze under her gaze. 

Luckily, Derek draws the attention back to him with a roll of his eyes. "Or else what?" he goads. 

"Or  _else_ , I'll tell the townspeople that there is no beast, just a wolf. Then they'll come and hunt you down." 

"And then I'll kill them and have Finstock use them for soup." 

"I'm okay with this!" Finstock shouts from the kitchens, and Stiles groans. There goes their cover.

"Damnit Finstock!" Stiles shouts. 

The girl looks from Stiles to the kitchens then to Derek with wide eyes. "What the  _hell_ is going on here?!" she demands.

"Uhhh," Scott begins (he was never good under pressure), and Stiles nearly flails off the table in his frustration. 

"Lock the doors!" Chris shouts, and immediately the door shuts and locks, as do the 5 million windows (Stiles has never really bothered to count them all) in the manor. 

"What the  _hell_?!" The girl looks around her in frenzy and quickly runs to the door. As she tries to yank it open with sheer force of will and what Stiles sees to be little arm muscle, Derek scoffs and turns around to go back into his room. 

"So uhh, what's your name?" Stiles asks the redhead as she continues to yank at the door. She ignores him, which Stiles can't say he didn't expect. Scott looks around him with uncertainty, until Stiles shrugs. "Just go get Isaac or Boyd or something, tell them they're on Derek duty.  _Not_ Erica. She's still on punishment," he tells him. Scott smiles, says "okay," and goes. 

"Will you stop pulling on my damn nose?! I'm not going to open!" the door exclaims, causing the panicking girl to jump back from it with a start.

" _Hmph_ ," she huffs as she brushes off her skirt.

"Soooo uhh, your name?" Stiles pushes, watching her as she watches him. 

"What's _yours_? And why are you talking? You're a clock." 

"Stiles. And wow, your skills of observation are spectacular. It's like you have eyes or something," he says with sarcasm and an obnoxious roll of his eyes.

She sticks her nose up at him and begins to walk down the hall towards the sitting room. "Lydia. Lydia Martin," she calls back. 

Stiles stares incredulously at her as she walks through the foyer like she owns the place until he realizes he should probably be going with her. "Well wait up,  _Lydia_ , I'm a frickin' clock, not a racecar!" 

-

"So basically you're telling me I'm trapped here?" Lydia says with a raised eyebrow. Stiles nods vehemently from his place on the armrest of  a chair in the library. "That's stupid. I'm sure I could find my way out." 

Stiles just gapes at her in disbelief. "Uhh, are you forgetting the part about living doors who won't let you out?" 

Lydia scoffs. "Anyone can be persuaded." 

"Nope, not these guys. Trust me. We'll all very– uh– invested in your stay here." Stiles looks at the ground, the ceiling, basically anywhere but at Lydia.

Lydia opens her mouth to respond but is interrupted by the arrival of Scott, who, once again, seems to be in a hurry. "Stiles! Can you _please_ tell Derek to stop having a temper tantrum? It's not even past twelve!" 

Stiles looks from Scott to Lydia, then back at Scott. "Yeah yeah, fine." Stiles leaves with Scott behind him, who gives a small wave towards Lydia. 

She rolls her eyes and turns back to the book shelf behind her. If she's trapped here, she might as well read until someone surely comes to rescue her. Of course, they'd probably fail and then she'd have to rescue herself and the other person (if she liked them enough). 

"You know, Miss Martin, I'm sure you could negotiate the terms of your leave with Derek," the bookshelf says. Startled, Lydia jumps back and drops her book. 

"Oh great, you can talk too?" she says with a glare in his direction as she goes to pick up the book. "Maybe  _you_ can tell me what the hell is going on here." 

"Of course I could," the bookshelf responds. 

" _Well_? Go on." Lydia waves her hand in his direction as she takes a seat facing him. 

The bookshelf chuckles lightly, then knocks one of the books down. "This is a record of all the residents and staff of the Hale Manor. I suggest you read it, just for familiarity's sake." 

"That doesn't tell me why I'm stuck here.Or why any of you can talk. Or why Derek's a wolf thing that walks on two legs." 

The bookshelf chuckles again, and Lydia imagines he would be shaking his head if he could.

"It started a very, very long time ago. Perhaps two generations ago. Time moves very slowly here, you see. Derek was the heir to the Hale fortune, and with it, all the properties and businesses. The Hales were very influential people in their time. Some even considered them the royalty of Beacon Hills. However, it was a very dark time as well. Witches, monsters, they all roamed the land without any care as to who saw them or who got hurt when they played their games. There was one witch, however, that was the worst of the lot. She went by the name of Kate Argent, and she was feared by all. The Hales had hoped to create a truce between her and the people of Beacon Hills, and so they invited her and her family to the manor. 

Kate Argent arrived with a young Allison, her niece, and her brother– Allison's father– Chris. But things went wrong after a couple of days. Kate grew a penchant for Derek, and desired him as her apprentice. She refused to leave without him. No one but Kate wished for him to leave with her, and after too many refusals, Kate killed Derek's family, leaving only Derek behind. She then tried to burn the house down, but Chris had stopped her. In her rage, she fled the house. But not without leaving something behind. A mark."

Lydia raises a brow at that and inclines her head. "A mark?" 

"Yes. A mark. It's like a signature. Witches often left marks behind to show where they've been or what they've done. If a witch left a place in good spirits, they gave blessings, such as fertile crops or good weather, and something else, like a rose bush or a pond, and that would be their mark. If they left in bad spirits, they would leave behind a curse, and whatever else they chose to mark it with. Perhaps a thorn bush, or–"

"Monkshood. Also known as wolfsbane. Kate left wolfsbane, didn't she? After she cursed the manor?" Lydia inquires with interest. _That would explain the talking furniture,_ she thinks. 

The bookshelf begins to say something but stops suddenly, as if he's been gagged. With a small cough, he says, "I suggest you read that book. There's more in there than just names." 

Lydia huffs and grabs the book. "Is there anywhere a girl can read in this place  _without_ animated furniture?" 

"Perhaps the bathroom?" he offers as she leaves with a flip of her hair. "Good luck, Miss Martin," he calls after her, "you'll need it." 

-

"Well I think you should at least try," Stiles says, though his heart feels like it just gained fifty pounds. Derek growls in response and Stiles rolls his eyes. 

"She's pretty, in that eat-you-alive kinda way?" Scott helps with a shrug. Now it's Derek's turn to roll his eyes. 

"Not interested." Derek's tone is dripping with finality, and Stiles' metaphorical heart does a weird pitter-patter of both glee and desperation. 

Isaac groans, and Boyd is stoic as always. It's just as unnerving as it was when Stiles first met him. Scott sighs and leaves the room, probably to go hang out with Allison.

"But Derek you shoul–" 

"No, Stiles! There's no point! Just drop it!" Derek's voice is usually as human as one's could be with a wolf's mouth, but this time, it sounds like it took effort just to form words.

"Fine. Condemn us all," Stiles spits, and he leaves, Boyd and Isaac behind him. He pretends not to hear the small whine that follows. It's hardly his fault that Derek fucking Hale is so pessimistic. 

-

Stiles finds Lydia in the kitchen, arguing with Finstock.

"You're a teapot! Why are you even involved in this?!"

"Because _I_ am in charge of the kitchen! Now get! We're making dinner!" Finstock steams, and Lydia damn near stomps out of the kitchen. 

"Oh! Good. There you are," she says as she nearly steps on him. Stiles backs away from her in haste. He's made it years without something breaking. He's not going to let a fierce redhead ruin his streak. 

"Uh, here I am?" 

Lydia shuffles him towards the sitting room and sits in an armchair with her legs crossed and places a book in her lap. Stiles eyes it with curiosity and wariness as he hops onto the table next to her. 

"So, Stiles," she begins sweetly, which causes Stiles to narrow his eyes at her, "would you be so kind as to tell me why  _I'm_ the one that has to  _fall in love_ with  _Derek_?" 

Stiles squawks and tries to flail, but only manages to knock himself over. Lydia patiently waits for him to right himself, and when he does, his eyes are wide and his mouth is agape. 

"How do you know this? Where did that even  _come_ from?!"

"From here," Lydia says cooly as she raises the book.

Stiles narrows his eyes at it, then looks up towards the library. "Deaton," he says like it's a nasty thing on his tongue. 

"If you're referring to the bookshelf, then yes. Deaton. Now, answer the question," Lydia says as she leans forward, which makes Stiles quickly glance at her cleavage (in his defense, he hasn't seen breasts in a _very_ long time) then her eyes, which are looking at him intensely.

"Uhhh," Stiles says smartly as he tries to think about a way to get around the gag order.  _Damnit Kate_ , he thinks with venom. "Wait. How did  _Deaton_  tell you about the, _ya'know_?" 

"There was information about the curse written on a few blank pages in the back. Now, answer the question."

Stiles sputters and looks at the book, and Lydia merely raises an eyebrow as she waits for a response. Stiles sighs and wishes he could crawl under a pile of blankets and never come out again.

"Well– uh– because you're here? And there's, like, limited time left? I mean– come on, Derek's not so bad! You should try talking to him. He's funny, and he cares in that 'I'm-too-tough-to-show-I-care-but-I-do way, and he's also really soft and _g_ _od,_ his  _abs_. He used to have really nice abs, let me tell you, an-"

"If he's so great, why don't  _you_ fall in love with him?" 

Stiles sputters again and thank god he can't blush. "It– It doesn't work that way," he mutters. "Besides–"

"Whatever," Lydia interrupts with a wave of her hand. "There has to be a loop hole somewhere though, right? Everything has a loophole." 

Stiles glares at her. "Don't you think, considering how our  _lives_  are on the line and we've been here for  _decades,_ we would've found one if there was one?" 

"No," she says simply, "because you never had me before. I'll help you, but  _only_ if you get me a cure to Jackson's aconite poisoning."

"You have seven days. Stay for seven days, and I'll get you the cure." 

Lydia considers this for a moment before she resolutely nods. "Deal."

_Great,_ Stiles thinks,  _now I need to find a way to get them to fall in love within seven days. Piece of frickin' cake._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter should be posted in a couple of days (8


	3. Tuesday

Lydia finds out within less than a day that she  _really_ doesn't like Derek. It's not even that he's intimidating (he actually is, but that's not why she doesn't like him); he's just very negative and all doom-and-gloom. She doesn't blame him for it, not completely anyway, but that doesn't mean she wouldn't appreciate some kind of pep in his damn step every now and then. He rarely leaves the top floor, and when he does, it's only either to eat or go sit outside with Erica, Isaac, and Boyd (she doesn't like Erica at  _all_ ). Everyone has been pushing her towards him and vice versa, but their attempts at match-making are futile (she does appreciate Melissa's fashion sense, though; there's probably a reason she's a wardrobe); she's only here for Jackson, after all. 

Derek doesn't seem to like her either, if the way he glares at her almost 75% of the time is any indication. She doesn't mind much, but the conflicted look Stiles always gives her after an interaction with the beast makes her think that there's definitely more to the story that she doesn't know, and that,  _that_ is something she minds. 

"What was Stiles like, before the curse?" Lydia asks Derek as they sit around the dining table. The food doesn't look very edible (it's a daily risk to eat the food that appears in front of her; she doesn't have a good read on Finstock yet, and he seems like the type of guy– teapot– to poison dinner), so she just pokes at it. Allison usually lets her know later on when it's okay to sneak into the kitchen and get something for herself.

It's only their second dinner, and the last one had been a disaster. Derek didn't like talking about himself, or even talking at all, so Lydia left her inquisitions for Stiles, who was happy to tell her all about the people who lived here. Tonight, maybe, she'd get some information about Stiles, who didn't like to talk about himself either. 

Derek halts the crusade against his steak to look up at Lydia with a gleam in his eye. It's not a positive one, more defensive, and Lydia thinks she has found a chink in his armor. "Fine," he grunts, then he goes back to his dinner.

"Define  _fine_. Was he cute? Annoying?"

"Fine, as in  _fine._ " Derek purposely ignores her last two questions, but Lydia pushes further.

"He seems like the type that would be cute; you know, like how you can tell how someone looks through a letter?" 

"No, I don't know." 

"Don't know he's cute or don't know how to tell how someone looks through a letter?" 

"Is there a reason you're questioning me, or is this practice for when you join the Spanish Inquisition?" 

"I'm just curious. He seems cute. For a clock." Lydia notes the stark similarities between Stiles and Derek, as well as the differences; it's something she decides to look further into later.

"Great." Derek, so tense that his hands had literally been digging into the table, stands suddenly and leaves the dining room. His chair is knocked over and his steak is hardly finished, but most importantly, there are grooves in the table's fine finish from where Derek had been gripping it for dear life, like Lydia had been threatening to take away something precious.

Lydia's starting to think that maybe, maybe she had. 

-

Stiles likes Lydia. She's overbearing and probably the most intimidating person he's ever met, but she's  _human._ It's been a long time since he's seen human flesh, hair that wasn't fur, and hands without claws. He and Scott ask her about the town, even though they know everyone they were once familiar with has been long dead. Lydia explains lacrosse to them with her face full of pride when she talks about Jackson (they both know what lacrosse is and hate her boyfriend, but they let her continue anyways).

"I don't think Derek likes me much," she says finally with a huff. 

Stiles feels his stomach drop, figuratively, of course, and looks up at her from the book he's been skimming through with Scott, who scoffs. 

"Derek doesn't like most people," he says with a shrug. "Just let him get used to you. He'll warm up eventually." 

 _If we even have eventually,_ Stiles wants to remind Scott, but refrains. "Yeah," he says weakly, "just give it time." 

Lydia  _hmph_ 's and turns the page for them (Scott had tried to, but he nearly set the book on fire). "He likes Stiles just fine," she says when she returns to her own book. Deaton has been helping them look for a loophole by casually throwing books off his shelves or telling her the acronyms of the titles of books she should look at. 

Scott smirks but doesn't say anything, and Stiles pretends not to have heard her. He tries to make himself seem smaller and dives deeper into his reading, feigning ignorance. Stiles hears Deaton make a small sound that sounds like a chuckle from the other side of the library and mentally vows to glare at him a _lot_ when– if– they become human again.

Lydia doesn't press further, and the rest of their reading time is quiet, save for them bouncing theories off of each other or showing something one of them has found. 

-

Derek seems to be moodier than usual when Stiles goes to him. It's not unusual, and everyone has been feeling tense lately, but Stiles knows about dinner earlier and the disaster that it was. 

Stiles sits next to him by the fire, enjoying Derek's warmth more than the fire's. "She's not that bad, you know," he says quietly. Derek gives no sign that he heard him, and Stiles sighs. "Just give her a chance, Derek, please. She's our last hope. There's only six days left before–"

"I know how much time is left, Stiles," Derek grumbles, "but I don't see it happening anytime soon." Stiles swears he can feel Derek inch closer to him, but he thinks nothing of it. They'd always been very tactile with each other back when they were human, but now it's more of just being glued to each other's sides. 

"How great would it be to be human again, though? Scott hasn't held Allison in forever, and Boyd and Erica haven't had– well, that's probably a good thing, but still, it sucks for them. It sucks for all of us, really." 

"Stiles, I'm sorry. I just– I can't." 

Stiles ignores the way his heart is beating wildly in his chest, ignores the way Derek's looking at him like there's something so much more to this conversation that Stiles just isn't getting. "But why  _not?"_

"I just can't, Stiles!" Derek gets up quickly and turns away from Stiles to go to the bed, and he takes that as his cue to leave. "You seem to like her just fine. Why don't  _you_ go and break the curse with her?" Derek adds.

Stiles glares at him, but he doesn't understand what he means. Instead of trying to figure it out, he just gets angry. "I've been trying!" Stiles shouts, and Derek recoils as if he's been slapped.

"Well good for you!"

"Not really! We've been trying to find a loop hole and fucking  _Kate_ has this sealed air-fucking-tight! You and Lydia falling in love is really all we fucking have!" 

Derek growls at the mention of Kate's name, but Stiles continues his rant. 

"I don't know why you can't just give her a damn chance! Don't you want us to be human again? Don't you want me to be able to fucking hug my dad again? For Scott to hug his mom? We shouldn't have to fucking die. I haven't even had my first fucking kiss yet and–" Stiles cuts himself off before he says something dangerous, like " _and I had wanted it to be you, but life isn't fair, so fucking get over it and try to break this curse!"_

Instead, Stiles settles for "Life isn't fucking fair, Derek; you know that better than anyone. Just fucking make an effort." He leaves then, still fuming. Stiles ignores the feeling of guilt wracking at his heart and focuses on the anger, just like Derek does. He ignores the sounds of smashing furniture behind him as well.  _  
_

-

Lydia listens to Stiles and Derek fight from the next room over, and pointedly ignores the feeling of Melissa watching her with disapproval. When she feels the walls vibrate from Derek, most likely, throwing furniture around his room in anger, she backs away and sits at the desk. Her fingers tap out a tune while she thinks and reflects.

Melissa begins suggesting dress ideas for tomorrow, which Lydia understands as her trying to deter her from her thoughts, but she pays no mind. "Perhaps instead of colorful, feminine dresses, we should try something more dark and less feminine and–" 

"That's it! Melissa, you're brilliant!" Lydia interrupts, and Melissa radiates with pride and hopefulness.

"Yes, yes! Perhaps a dark red dress, Derek likes re–"

"No, no, not that," Lydia says with a dismissing wave of her hand, and Melissa looks thoroughly dejected, "well, yes that, but not in the way you meant." 

Lydia stands quickly and puts her ear against the wall, and when she hears furniture still being smashed around, she smiles maniacally, like an evil mastermind who just discovered his enemy's plot. 

"Stiles and Derek are too dumb to realize it, but they're both  _completely_ in love with each other. It'd be cute if there wasn't a deadline on their lives," Lydia begins, pacing the room as she organizes her thoughts and mentally maps out a plan. Melissa says nothing, but Lydia feels her watching her. "But the real dilemma is how we get them to confess it to each other. I would bet my life that if we can accomplish that, then the curse will be broken." 

Melissa breaks her silence with " _we?"_ and Lydia turns to look at her with a smirk. 

"Of course. We're going to need all hands on deck for this one." 


	4. Wednesday

Derek makes a significant effort the next day, and Stiles is both glad and unhappy at the recent change. It's a necessary sacrifice, though. He misses being able to hang out with his dad (as a large grandfather clock, his father doesn't have the mobility that Stiles does as a much smaller one), and he knows Scott misses being able to hold Allison (he mentions it maybe once a day– twice on a bad day). Perhaps when Derek and Lydia fall in love and most likely marry, their friendship won't be strained and things will just return to how they were before; to Stiles, it seems unlikely, but he dares to dream. 

At lunch, Derek and Lydia sit outside at one of the benches facing the gardens, and Stiles watches from afar (out of Derek's hearing range, of course; Stiles had put a begrudging Derek through multiple experiments throughout the years to test his senses) with Erica, Isaac, Boyd, and Scott. Scott nudges him, and Stiles can practically feel the concern in his touch. He makes no sign that he notices, however, and just shrugs at his friend. 

Erica makes a noise of displeasure at the sight of Derek laughing at something Lydia says (it sounds more like a series of barks, but Lydia makes no sign that she finds his laugh unusual or unsettling), and Isaac makes a noise in agreement. "She's  _mean_ ," he says to no one in particular.

"The  _worst_ ," Erica agrees. Stiles makes no comment, as he is too busy seething with jealousy to even pay attention to anything other than his thoughts of  _what the hell could possibly be so funny_  and  _that's not even how Derek laughs that is so forced oh my fucking god_ (and rest assured that Stiles  _knows_  Derek's laugh; it's the sweetest sound he's ever heard). 

"What do you think they're talking about?" Scott asks, watching them intently.

"The best way to eat a human, perhaps," Boyd muses, and Erica and Isaac chuckle. 

"Exchanging recipes, probably," Isaac adds. 

"Then why isn't Finstock here?" Scott jokes, and the group laughs heartily, even Stiles. It's moments like this that make Stiles think that maybe, maybe everything will be okay even though Derek won't be his, and most likely never will be. 

-

Lydia notices the effort Derek makes to being out and about now. It's evident in the way he comes down for breakfast and lunch, saying a clipped  _"_ hello" to those he goes by, and the way he even manages to hold his temper. The conversations they share are not as difficult as before, and Lydia finds that he really isn't so bad, once he decides to pull the wolfsbane out of his ass. 

That doesn't mean she's going to fall in love with him ( _he's not Jackson_ , she thinks wistfully as they converse), and it certainly doesn't mean he's going to fall in love with her (the hopeful glances he sends Stiles' way and the way he always seems to be looking around for him are painfully obvious). There's a friendship growing, however, and Lydia has plans to use this to her advantage. 

After lunch, Lydia sets her plan in motion. Melissa is already up to speed, though reluctantly, and now it's time to get Allison in on it. Lydia finds her where she always finds her, at the top of the stairs commanding the brooms, mops, and buckets (she really is the only one they listen to). 

"Allison," she singsongs, tilting her head with a smile that, from what she can see in her own reflection, is purely devious. Allison orders the last of the mops, and Lydia can feel her eyes on her.

"I'm in," she says right away, and Lydia knows right then and there that she chose her new best friend  _very_ well. 

"Good. First and foremost, we need to get Stiles and Derek to get over themselves and apologize to each other." 

Allison thinks on this for a moment, and after a minute or two, emits a sound of triumph. Lydia looks at her expectantly. 

" _Stiles!"_ Allison shouts, her voice ringing throughout the manor in a way that makes Lydia think that she's probably mastered the art of being heard from the hallway, and Lydia cringes at the sound. She leaves before she can be found at the scene of a conspiracy, putting great faith in her best friend. It's only been a couple days, but Allison has quickly made her place in Lydia's list of 'People Worth My Time'.

An hour later, Lydia hears Stiles grumbling something about evil mirrors and breaking princess stereotypes as he walks down the hall. Lydia is impressed at how well Allison commands the house; it's not just the mops, brooms, and buckets that listen to her apparently. 

-

Stiles reluctantly enters the library, where Allison had told him Derek would be, and sure enough, there he is. It's been a long time since Stiles has seen him out and about the manor, and it makes his metaphorical heart warm, even as it sinks to his metaphorical feet at the thought that it wasn't  _his_ doing that made Derek more sociable– it was Lydia's. 

"Uh, hey, Derek," Stiles opens, inching closer to him. Derek is reading, and he doesn't expect a greeting, so he just continues on to his monologue. 

"I'm sorry about the other day, and the other days, too, where I was, ya'know. I just– I don't... want to be stuck like this, I guess. And I know you don't either, and we just have so little  _time_  left, and–" 

"I get it, Stiles," Derek interrupts, looking up from his book with a small smile, "and it's okay. I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have, well, you know..." 

"Oh thank God," Stiles says, relieved. Apologizes were not his strong suit (he could tell you quite a bit about the history of male circumcision, though) and they made him antsy. He wasn't good with heartfelt words or doing things of sentimentality. He preferred pretending everything was a-okay and ignoring any feelings that could lead to bad situations. 

Derek laughs, and it's a light sound, nothing like that barking he heard earlier.  _T_ _hat_ , that is the laugh Stiles knows and loves, and his heart warms further; however, he ignores these feelings of warmth, just like he always does.

"Come on," Derek says, moving over to make room for him on the armchair. Stiles jumps up onto the armrest and leans on Derek just the slightest.  _It's chilly in here and Derek is warm_ , he rationalizes,  _this is not cuddling_. 

"I can't remember the last time I actually saw you out of your cave for anything other than dinner," Stiles says. 

"I ran out of animal blood, and I wasn't done with my paintings," Derek retorts.

Stiles nods in understanding, holding in his laughter, and responds, "Yeah, those tyrannosauruses will get ya'."  _ **  
**_

Derek laughs lightly, and Stiles all but preens.

They spend the next three hours just talking, Derek's book forgotten, and it reminds Stiles of the way it used to be. It doesn't hurt so much as it leaves a bittersweet taste in his mouth. They laugh about the stories of the past, like when Stiles and Scott played extreme hide and seek and Scott ended up getting tangled in the chandelier and since then, Chris has always been edgy (edgier than normal, at least) around Scott. They laugh about the time when it snowed, and Erica couldn't move because her wheels had gotten stuck in the snow, and Derek had been too busy laughing to help her until two hours later. 

Deaton is eerily quiet during their conversation, and it's only when Derek and Stiles have fallen into a peaceful silence, nearly falling asleep on each other, that Deaton clears his throat and says quietly, "It's almost time for dinner, Derek, Stiles." 

Derek stiffens, and Stiles refrains from glaring daggers at Deaton. He gets up first, figuring that Derek had felt awkward when he realized how close they really were, and Derek follows. They head downstairs with Stiles in the lead, Derek going at an almost glacial pace behind him. It feels as if eyes are on him, but it could just as well be one of the mirrors or a broom.

"You're gonna come up to my room later, right? Like old times?" Derek asks before they part, Stiles for the kitchen and Derek to the dining room, and Stiles blames his stupid crush for the hope he hears in Derek's voice. 

"'Course, buddy," Stiles says, and Derek smiles almost wistfully. Stiles goes into the kitchen and plays off the giddiness he feels as him being happy that Derek and Lydia are getting along; it's a bigger lie than the time he told his dad that no, he and Scott did not eat all the cookies at Laura's birthday celebration. Not even Finstock ruins his mood that night, even though he does cause a couple pots to rattle in nervousness and make a mess of the soup, and Scott gives Stiles a knowing look and a big grin, which would make Stiles blush fiercely if he were human. 

-

Lydia has taken note of the fact that Stiles will always push Derek and Lydia together with even more force when he senses even the slightest distress in their relationship. Thus, she keeps the conversation light and superficial during dinner, asking him about books and simple things like that. They don't fight, nor is the conversation strained or awkward. 

It goes relatively well, Derek's apparent impatience notwithstanding. He makes furtive glances towards the clock throughout the dinner, but Lydia takes that as a good sign, considering she overheard his plans with Stiles for later that night. It seems the plan is going accordingly, which puts Lydia in better spirits.

When they retire to their bedrooms, Lydia listens for any sign of trouble in the room next door. After an hour, she lies smugly in bed.

"So far so good, huh?" she says to Melissa.

"Don't count your chickens before they hatch, Miss Lydia," is the only response. 


	5. Thursday

After yesterday being such a good day,  _of course_ today would be relatively shitty for Stiles. He blames his bad luck on the time when he and Scott accidentally knocked over one of the many mirrors in the manor. 

Lydia finds him after breakfast, pouring over the books Deaton suggested to him earlier in the sitting room. 

"You haven't found a cure yet, have you?" she asks as she takes a seat across from him. Stiles goes still, isn't sure how to tell her that there really _isn't_ a cure. All Jackson really has to do is flush out his system and rest, according to Deaton; however, he can't tell that to Lydia, or she might leave and never come back. 

"Ah, no," he says finally, looking up from the books before him, titled _How to Set the Mood_ , _Romantic Dinners for Dummies_ , and _3 Course Dinner Plans for When You Pop the Question_.

Deaton, apparently, had no faith in Stiles' ability to be romantic. Scott was no better because when Stiles had asked him how to set up a romantic dinner for two, he nearly panicked, asking, "Why? Did Allison say something? Should _I_ say something? Why?" He only calmed down when Stiles informed him that no, Allison didn't say anything, and no, he should not say anything because the dinner was for Lydia and Derek. Scott then gave Stiles a sympathetic look and went to go ask Allison for some advice that did not come from a book written by Ally Edonely. 

Lydia rolls her eyes and sighs, apparently thinking she can do better in regards to research because she grabs a book as well. Stiles holds his breath as he waits for her to register that she was not, in fact, reading a book about aconite poisoning, but instead reading a book about romance. 

Lydia raises a brow at Stiles but doesn't put the book down. "Are you trying to seduce someone, Stiles?" she asks. 

"Not really, no..." he responds, looking anywhere but at her. It isn't a lie, exactly. He isn't trying to seduce anyone. He's just trying to make two people fall in love over dinner. According to Ms. Edonely, it is perfectly possible and  _has_ been done before.  _  
_

Lydia smirks and flips through the pages of "Romantic Dinners for Dummies", emitting a small "no" or "I guess" here and there. Stiles continues his reading, occasionally looking up at her to see if she suspects anything; then again, it's Lydia. She _always_ suspects something. 

-

Lydia leaves Stiles to his reading a couple hours later. The books were painfully pathetic; it's no wonder Ally Edonely is a Ms. and not a Mrs. 

What really interested her– the  _real_ reason she sat down with him– was to figure out why he was reading such books. He either has finally gotten his head out of his ass and realized Derek was in love with him, or he's going to try and push her and Derek together with the "most romantic dinner your significant other has ever eaten" (exact words from Ms. Edonely). 

There are only a couple days left of Lydia's stay at the manor, and so far, Stiles hasn't seemed to make any progress in finding her a cure. She wasn't even allowed to send a letter to Jackson, let alone go see him. For all she knew, he could be hospitalized and  _dying_. The doctors had told her that all Jackson needed was to rest, but who knew how long that would take? Lydia is not a patient person, and Jackson was  _captain_ of the lacrosse team. He was needed; bed rest was not going to keep him on top. 

Lydia steps into the library with determination, walks right up to the bookshelf that is Deaton. "Deaton, I need all the books you have on aconite poisoning. Even if it's just mentioned in passing, I need it."

-

Stiles sits by the fireplace in the living room with anxiety nearly radiating off of him and Scott by his side. "I just feel like I'm drowning, I guess," he mutters. Scott doesn't say anything, just scoots closer to him. 

"We'll get through this, Stiles, we'll figure something out," he tries, and Stiles doesn't remind him that there are only three days left. Three days until they're all turned to dust. Or something. Kate never specified what would happen to them exactly; knowing her, it'd be something poetic and painful. He'd ask Chris, but he always gets rather testy when Kate is mentioned to him. It's the same way with Allison. 

"Yeah, I guess," is all Stiles gives him.

They sit like that for a few more minutes, until Scott nudges him. He looks up to see Derek coming in cautiously, probably worried that he interrupted something. Scott waves him over and then leans into Stiles as a hug goodbye, muttering something about his mom. Derek nods to him as he leaves, but Scott is too busy trying to act as if he left casually to respond. Stiles holds back a laugh. 

Derek sits close to Stiles and nearly engulfs him in his fur, but it's more of a comfort to Stiles than a nuisance.

"Lydia expects me to find a cure for aconite poisoning," Stiles says, looking down at the protective tail that is wrapped around him like a shield. From what, Stiles doesn't know, but it makes him feel better even if only a little bit. 

"I didn't know there was one," Derek responds with an eyebrow raised. If it had been another time, Stiles would've been amused by how similar Derek and Lydia really are ( _I guess I have a type,_ he thinks). 

"There isn't. That's the problem." Stiles leans further into Derek's warmth, as if he could hide from the mess in which he's put himself.

Derek doesn't say anything in response, doesn't even ask for an explanation; he just sits with Stiles in silence and lets him think. This quiet understanding between them is one of Stiles' favorite things. He doesn't have to explain himself with Derek, and vice versa. It's probably for the better; neither of them has a way with words. 

Stiles eventually falls asleep in the comfort of Derek's presence. It's earlier than usual, but in his defense, he hasn't been sleeping for the past two days. He doesn't wake up all through the night, not even when Derek gingerly lifts him and takes him to his usual resting spot on the table next to his father, not even when his father gives a backhanded version of the "What are your intentions with my son?" lecture and Derek nearly has an aneurism.

-

Lydia decides to save the research for the next day and doesn't go back to the library after dinner. The books Deaton gave her don't mention anything new about aconite poisoning cures, and she figures a long break would help her collect her thoughts and get a fresh perspective for the next day. 

She goes to Allison for company, since she can already hear Stiles talking in his sleep in the foyer (he yells at Finstock in his sleep; it'd be charming if it weren't so weird). Allison is talking with Scott, who Lydia has come to learn isn't quite as bad as she originally thought. He's good for Allison– well, as good as an inanimate object can get, really– so Lydia tries to be on her best behavior towards him. 

"Stiles is just really worried about everything, you know? You know how he gets when he feels like he has to do something," Lydia overhears Scott saying, and it's then that Lydia gets an idea. 

No one knows Stiles better than Scott, except maybe his father, but he's almost as intimidating as Lydia herself (Lydia thinks he'd make a great cop). If Lydia can get Scott in on the plan, then it will surely go better than it has so far. 

"Hey Allison, Scott," Lydia says cheerily as she approaches them. Allison greets Lydia warmly as usual, but Scott turns to Lydia with a suspicious look, and she thinks that Stiles has perhaps taught Scott too well what to expect when someone seems just a bit too happy.

"Lydia," Scott says by ways of a greeting, still suspicious. 

"Scott, you know Stiles better than anyone, right?" Lydia pushes, putting a bit of flattery in her tone. The more buttered up they are, the easier they are to bend. 

"Yes..." 

"So if I told you that I have a pla–"

"No." 

"But you don't–"

"No."

"Scott, come on, let her finish," Allison says gently. Scott shakes his head vehemently, and Lydia deflates just the slightest. 

"I will not let you manipulate him, Lydia. I don't care what it's for. He's my best friend, and he has enough to worry about," Scott warns. Lydia feels her respect growing for the candle holder, but she continues with her mission anyway. 

"We're not going to manipulate him. You know he likes Derek, and Derek likes him too! So really, it's not manipulation. We're just pushing them together, like you guys have been doing with me and Derek the whole time I've been here." 

Scott looks slightly guilty at that, but it doesn't make the suspicion waver from his face. 

"Scott, come on; it'll make him happy, really. Everyone knows they like each other," Allison adds, and Scott seems to waver just the smallest amount at her coercion. 

He sighs, and after some thinking, he agrees. Just as Lydia turns to leave with her victory, Scott calls out to her. 

"If he gets hurt in any way, even if it's just the slightest chip in his woodwork, I will have every single being in this house against you, Lydia. It's a big property, and no one comes here. I will make sure not even the greatest bloodhound can find you."

"Scott," Allison starts, but Scott interrupts. 

"I'm serious, Lydia. Do not, in any way, hurt Stiles." 

Normally, Lydia pays no mind to threats, but as she looks at Scott's face and the hardness that is there, she thinks that maybe she should tread a little more carefully this time around. 


	6. Friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, guys! Grad weekend was murder on me.

_The books were no help,_  Stiles thinks as he stares at the mess that once was the kitchen. Scott tries to wipe frosting from his middle candle without knocking anything, including himself, over. Finstock is standing proudly amongst the various kitchenwares like he just defeated a hydra in a ferocious battle. The pink frosting adds to this image. 

"And what, exactly, happened to the cake?" Stiles asks, barely keeping a calm facade. Scott pauses and looks up at Stiles sheepishly.

"Someone had fallen into the cake batter by accident, and we had to get them out before we put it in the oven." 

" _Greenburg..."_ Stiles starts. 

"Oi! It wasn't me! It was that teacup over there!"

Stiles looks at the shaking teacup in the corner of the kitchen and sighs in resignation. "Just, _please_ , for the love of God, get this done  _before_ dinner starts, okay? 9 p.m. sharp!" 

Stiles leaves the kitchen with a heart heavy with anxiety. 

His father calls him from the foyer, and he wants nothing more than to just hug him. It's bullshit that he probably won't ever be able to again. 

"Hey, Dad," he says as he jumps onto the table next to him. 

"Hey, kiddo. Trouble in paradise?"

Stiles smirks at this, shrugs. 

"You know, son, you can't make two people fall in love, right? A big fancy cake can't do what even the brightest people have been trying to do for centuries," and at this, Stiles deflates. 

"I know, Dad. I—we—need this curse to break, though. We don't have much time, and Derek is being so  _stubborn_ , and so is Lydia, and—"

"Have you ever considered that maybe they were already in love with other people?" 

"Well Lydia does have a boyfriend, but I had a plan for that, too!" Stiles doesn't mention that the plan involved letting Jackson die, if that was really what happened to people with aconite poisoning. 

His father seems to know just what this plan entails, however, because he sighs. "Even the best laid schemes of mice and men go often awry, Stiles," he says. 

Stiles doesn't say anything other than a muttered, "I don't scheme."

The large grandfather clock, as well as the door, snorts.

-

Lydia crosses her arms and huffs at the dress laid before her. "Seriously, Melissa? It's dinner, not the presidential ball." 

Melissa doesn't say anything, but Lydia feels like if Melissa could, she'd be rolling her eyes right now.

"I'm not wearing this," Lydia says as she goes over to the yellow abomination. "Yellow isn't even my color." 

"Stiles says you have to wear it." 

"Oh, please! Stiles wouldn't know style even if it hit him in the face." 

Melissa snorts at this but doesn't give up. "Just put it on. It's only for a couple of hours. Then, if you so wish, you can burn it or something." 

Lydia rolls her eyes. "Fine." 

In the next room, she can hear Derek growling about a monkey suit, and it only slightly makes her feel better that she isn't the only one forced into this.

-

Stiles paces around the kitchen as Finstock and Scott get the dining room ready. His eyes glance at the cake periodically as if he's waiting for it to explode in his face, much like he's beginning to think this plan will. Scott comes bounding in a few minutes later just as Stiles is about to give up on everything and drown himself in the soup.

"It's ready!" Scott says, nearly out of breath.

Stiles nods, glances at the clock hanging on the wall. "Has Lydia come down yet? What about Derek? Where's Derek?" 

"I think I heard some growling a couple minutes ago, so he's probably putting on the suit you had laid out for him," one of the pans says from the stove. 

"Yeah, about that. Why does Derek have to wear a suit?" Scott asks. 

" _Because_ Lydia is wearing a  _dress_. It would be weird if only one of them was nicely dressed."

"Lydia always dresses nice," Greenburg cuts in.

"Yeah that's great, Greenburg. Go help set up," Stiles pushes with an eye roll. Greenburg leaves, muttering something about being under appreciated, but Stiles isn't really paying attention. Instead, Stiles focuses on monitoring the various dishes heading for the table, waiting with held breath for one of them to fall over. 

Scott comes up next to him and nudges him gently. "Come on, man, you gotta relax. It'll go great." 

Stiles just leans into Scott and doesn't say anything. 

It's an hour before Derek finally comes down the stairs, followed by Lydia. Stiles holds back a triumphant " _Yes!"_ when Lydia looks impressed, ignores the unimpressed look Derek shoots in the direction of Stiles' and Scott's hiding place. 

"Just because I made you dress like a civilized being doesn't mean you have to be all grumpy about it, Der," Stiles whispers, knowing Derek can hear him. Derek huffs, but otherwise makes no sign that he heard him. 

Finstock sends out the drinks when Derek and Lydia sit down, followed by the first course of the meal.

Stiles tries not to preen at the surprised, but pleased, look Derek makes when the first plate reaches him. It took him a few years to figure out what Derek's favorite dishes were, but those years were clearly not wasted, if the warmth spreading through Stiles at Derek's reaction is any indication.

Stiles ignores the pang in his chest when he realizes he had remembered those dishes so he could share them with Derek one day, not set him up; instead, he smiles triumphantly at Scott, who returns it.

The second course goes similarly, and Derek and Lydia have found a rhythm for conversation. It's boring, to say the least, and Stiles tries not to feel too smug at this. Derek seems to be more distracted tonight, as he keeps looking in Stiles' direction. "Still here, buddy," Stiles whispers, "making sure you don't give up on those eating utensils." Derek rolls his eyes, and Scott snickers. 

It gets boring after the third course, Scott leaning against the side of the cabinet they're hiding in by the bar. Stiles pays attention, though, because this is what he's been working towards for the past week—no, the past few decades, really. 

When the dinner ends, and Derek and Lydia leave, Stiles wakes up Scott. "Have they fallen in love yet?" he asks.

"I don't know, Scott, are we still pieces of furniture?" 

-

"How did dinner go?" Allison asks Lydia as she heads for her room.

Lydia sighs and flips her hair. "Derek could barely hold the conversation. He was distracted the whole time. And this dress is murder." 

Allison snorts in agreement. "It makes you look like a cupcake. A _yellow_ cupcake." 

"If this was Stiles' attempt to make me and Derek fall in love, it was a horrid one." 

"Probably because Derek's already in love with him," Allison says with amusement. 

It's Lydia's turn to snort. 

" _Boys_ ," they say in unison. 


	7. Saturday

The first thing Stiles registers when he wakes up the next morning is that he is  _very_ comfortable. And warm. Ridiculously warm, even. The second thing he registers is that there is fur tickling his face, and if he weren't so comfortable, he probably would've shoved it away. Instead, he stays where he is, drifting between being awake and asleep. He mentally vows to punch whoever tries to make him move before he's ready. 

Stiles slowly opens his eyes and yep, that's definitely fur in his face. It's black and smells like the forest (or what he remembers it to smell like, at least), and it takes Stiles a bit to realize that the fur belongs to Derek. 

At this realization, he tries to keep his heart from beating out of wherever it is so not to wake Derek. The anatomy of a clock has never been something he's been interested in until now.

"I can tell you're awake, Stiles. Go back to bed," Derek mumbles, curling tighter around him.  _He's like a furry anaconda,_ Stiles thinks vaguely as he heeds Derek's words and drifts back to sleep with a warmth spreading through him that he doesn't want to look into.

Stiles doesn't know what time it is the next time he wakes up, but he does know that he is  _pissed_ at whoever is making cooing noises. 

He opens his eyes to see Erica in the doorway, and he groans. 

"You two are precious, just so you know. I wish we had a camera. I think there's one somewhere around here. But oh, damn. I don't have hands." Erica has the audacity to look disappointed, and Stiles fantasizes about what it'd be like to throw a ton of shit in her fucking tray while she sleeps.

"ISAAC!" Erica screeches, and this earns her a growl from Derek, but she ignores it in favor of rolling away to find her partner in crime. Stiles wonders how Boyd puts up with them; he seems too zen for this shit. 

Derek starts to move, but Stiles makes him stop with a whine. "I'm comfy and warm. Don't you dare move." 

Derek huffs, but Stiles takes it as a win that Derek listens to him and stays where he is, although he does get thwacked in the face by his tail for his efforts. Stiles debates on whether or not he should bite it. 

Just as he's about to fall back asleep, Erica and Isaac stroll in like they own the place, and when Isaac sees Derek and Stiles cuddled up, he laughs. "She was right. This is adorable," he says between laughs. 

Derek bares his teeth and growls, but Isaac doesn't stop. Instead, the two roll casually away as if nothing happened. Derek sighs and looks over at Stiles, who has been trying to go back to sleep. Seriously, this has been the most rested he's ever been, and he'll be damned if he lets some fucking gardening tools make him move. 

"We have to get up at some point," Derek says quietly, nudging Stiles slightly. 

Stiles groans and shakes his head, mumbles, "No, we don't. S'a free country. Constitution says we can sleep." Stiles proceeds to bury himself further in Derek's fur, ignores the way it makes his heart race. 

Derek chuckles lowly, and when Stiles looks over at him, his eyes are dark. There's a tug in Stiles' chest at this that he promptly ignores, and he wonders if Derek's eyes are always this intense this early in the morning. Maybe it's a wolf thing. What the hell does he know.

"Fine," Derek says, giving in. He goes back to curling around Stiles like the furry anaconda he is, and Stiles sighs contentedly. "But that means you have to make the same stuff you did last night for dinner. Goodnight, Stiles." 

"What? No! It's not healthy to eat that crap every day. Also Finstock was a pain in the a—"

"Good _night,_ Stiles." 

Stiles huffs. "Fine. Goodnight." 

-

Lydia gently places her coffee on the table beside her armchair in the library, where she's been for the past two hours. She had woken up early, skipped breakfast, and surrounded herself in books Deaton has given her about wolfsbane. Scott brought her coffee half an hour ago, probably because Melissa told him to. It makes her smile a little at the thought that everyone in this house is connected, like a big ridiculous family. 

She's not one for sentiment, but it'd be nice if her parents could at least notice that their daughter _may_   _not have been home for the past six days._

And it was nerve-wracking, knowing that the deal was almost over, and Stiles has yet to find a cure. When Lydia decided to take over, after realizing Stiles was probably too busy trying to make her and Derek fall in love ( _i_ _diot,_ she thinks fondly), she thought it'd be easy. Grab a book, find the cure, get out. But so far, her search has been fruitless. And it pisses her off. 

Since shouting at Greenburg for interrupting her, no one, save Scott, has dared to approach her. Deaton merely shoves books off the shelves that he wants her to read, and Lydia has learned a long time ago not to ask him questions. She has no time for cryptic answers, after all. 

-

Stiles generally avoids the snow, being wood and all. Have you ever seen soggy wood? Better yet, have you ever  _been_ soggy wood? It's not fun. Unfortunately, the weird center of mystical bullshit that is the Hale Manor has decided that today, it snows.

Derek is in a freakishly good mood, considering the day it is and how much time they have left, and Stiles doesn't have the heart to remind him of the impending doom that has yet to fall upon the property. So when Derek gives him a wolfish grin and drags him outside, he can't say no (although he can complain, and rest assured, he did complain). 

Scott, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd join them, and Stiles can't be at fault for clinging to Scott's warmth. Why couldn't he have been the candleholder? It's much warmer than being a damn clock.

Derek has been flinging snow into Erica's tray, which Stiles is going to assume is his revenge for this morning, and Boyd has been too busy laughing to help her. Isaac refuses to get into it, so he stays with Scott and Stiles on the sidelines. 

"Why is he so giddy?" he mutters to Stiles, who shrugs. Hell if he knows. 

Scott sends a knowing look in his direction, however, which Stiles ignores; he also ignores just how much ignoring he's been doing lately. More important things to worry about and all that. 

Scott looks away from Stiles with his stupid intuitive eyes to see Erica tip all the snow back on Derek and then quickly roll away. She's cackling as she makes her way over to the group, Boyd right behind her. 

"Sucker!" she shouts behind her, coming to a stop in front of the group.

Stiles warily watches Derek shake off his fur. "You know he's the only one with opposable thumbs, right?" Stiles mutters to her. Erica's cackling dies down at this, and she slowly rolls her way behind them.

"Put in a good word for me, then? Please?"

" _What?_ What am  _I_ gonna do? Scratch him behind the ears?!"

"Or, ya'know, you guys can cuddle again," she responds with a giggle. 

Stiles can feel Scott's eyes on him, and Boyd doesn't even react. Isaac, however, giggles with her.

"Now I'm definitely not helping you," Stiles says with a shrug as he hops down from the bench to go to Derek. He grins at Erica's indignant squawk, but he doesn't look back. Instead, he takes Derek back inside to dry off. Again he ignores those stupid figurative butterflies in his stomach, and again he ignores the knowing looks he can feel at his back. Fuck them. What do they know?

-

Lydia knows she can't skip dinner or even bring it up to the library, lest she face Finstock's (and Stiles') wrath. Not that she's particularly afraid of them, but no one wants to hear either of them yelling. 

She has fifteen minutes before someone calls her down, and she intends to find the cure before the night is over. Lydia doesn't— _can't—_ stop to think about Jackson. The second she does, she gets overcome with worry, and that is counterproductive. So she pours herself into the books Deaton gives her and forces herself to keep focused. 

"Miss Lydia," calls a small voice from the entrance of the library that she doesn't recognize and promptly ignores, "dinner is ready." 

"Not now. Give me a minute," she mutters, eyes scanning the pages of her book with increasing fervor. If what she's reading is true, then dinner is going to be the last of her worries.

"Miss Lydi—"

" _Go!"_ she shouts, still not looking up. 

The voice squeaks and leaves, leaving Lydia to the book before her that is trying to tell her that there is not, in fact, a cure, other than bed-rest and proper hydration.

"Deaton," she calls with a shaky voice as she closes the book and places it gingerly, as if it was a ticking bomb, on the table next to her. 

"Yes, Miss Lydia?" comes his response, patient and all-knowing as ever.

"Did you  _know_ about this?"She asks, pointing towards the book and rising from her seat on shaky feet. 

"Yes, I did. I know quite a bit about aconite. It is a rather cru—"

"But you didn't think to  _tell me_ there was  _no cure?!"_ Lydia screeches with her blood boiling. 

"You never asked, Miss Lydia." 

"No, clearly it's not like I  _wanted to know this information_ , considering how I've been  _researching it for the past few days_." 

Just as Lydia moves to pick up the book and  _hurl_ it at Deaton, Stiles comes in, and that's the last straw.

" _Stiles!"_ she hisses as she turns on him, book in hand. "Did  _you_ know there was no cure to aconite poisoning?" Lydia tilts her head at him, and she tries not to feel empowered by the fearful expression on Stiles' stupid face. 

"Uh—well—that might've been a thing that I—uh—knew," he says with a cringe. 

Lydia laughs bitterly. "Oh really? Was it just you, or did everyone else know, too?"

Stiles opens and closes his mouth, as if he's trying to say something, and takes a few steps back, which Lydia matches with her own steps forward. 

"Look, Lydia, just—just calm down, okay? We'll work something out. We can—uh—"

"Did everyone  _else_ know, too,  _Stiles,_ or was it just you that was _lying_ to me?  _Hmm?"_

"The others knew, too," Stiles answers with a small voice, looking down in shame. 

Resisting the urge to kick him through a window, Lydia stomps out of the library towards the front door. She ignores Stiles calling after her, ignores Allison, who she _thought_ was her best friend. But what kind of best friend lies to you, after all? What kind of best friend doesn't tell you that  _hey, your boyfriend's going to be fine?_  

All she wants to do is go  _home_ and go to Jackson, who is probably in perfect health now. 

" _Let. Me. Out,"_ she hisses when she gets to the door. It isn't even a second before it's swinging open, and then she's pushing the gates open and storming through the forest, no longer afraid of the beasts rumored to lurk within it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for taking so long to update. Unfortunately, I probably won't be updating for awhile again due to orientation and then visiting my dad. I'll try to get some writing done during my free time, but there might be a long wait, especially since the next chapter is going to be the last one. If you wanna stay updated, you can find me on [tumblr](http://www.vernonboyd.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/werewolfseason).

**Author's Note:**

> Work title from 'Wolf Like Me' by TV on the Radio.


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